


a bag of frozen peas

by until_the_earth_is_free



Series: Peter Parker vs New York And Also The World [1]
Category: Daredevil (Comics), Daredevil (TV), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man: Homecoming (2017)
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Matt Murdock is a Good Bro, Panic Attacks, Post-Canon, Spider-Man: Homecoming Spoilers, Trans Character, Trans Peter Parker, i just really love daredevil and spider-man's friendship ok, vaguely humorous i guess?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-19
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-04 08:47:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11551698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/until_the_earth_is_free/pseuds/until_the_earth_is_free
Summary: “That’s one funky outfit you’ve got on, kiddo,” Mr Murdock said.“I was just, uh, practicing my gymnastics routine in the area.”“Really?” Mr Murdock asked, raising his eyebrows.  “Because it sounded like you were having a panic attack in a dumpster.”[Peter Parker passes out during a fight and wakes up in some guy called Matt Murdock's apartment.]





	a bag of frozen peas

**Author's Note:**

> content warnings: non-graphic canon-typical violence, panic attacks, mentions of unsafe binding practices

Peter was dying.  And he should know what dying feels like because he was super close to it when that building collapsed on him during his fight with The Vulture two weeks ago.  His vision had gone completely dark.  He couldn’t breathe.  His ribcage was about to snap right through his lungs.  It felt like that one day he’d decided to wear his binder under his spider-suit.  No, it felt like an entire concrete building had fallen on him again and he was going to die.

How had this happened?  One second, he’d been swinging through the air, shooting webs at Clash; the next, he’d miscalculated his web shot and had hit the ground, hard.  That’s when everything had gone dark.

Everything felt like a bad dream.  This couldn’t be happening.  Come on, Peter,  _breathe,_  goddamnit! Peter felt his eyes well up with tears.  He was so weak.  He was so fucking weak.  What was wrong with his chest?  Why couldn’t he move?  Had something fallen on him without him noticing?  Why was he—

Oh God.  A loud noise like metal scraping on metal suddenly screeched above him.  A cold flash shuddered through his body.  He was going to die.  He was—

And then he passed out.

When Peter woke up, he was still in the darkness.  No, that wasn’t quite right.  He could sort of make out shapes above and around him.  There was a source of light that seemed to be coming from his left.  Peter turned his head and squinted his eyes.  Man, that was a bright neon advertisement just outside the window to this room.

Wait a second.

Peter brought a hand up to his face.  No mask.  Shit.

He jolted upright into a sitting position, causing a throbbing feeling to shoot through his side. 

“Ow!” he exclaimed, clutching his side, and trying to stand up, despite his head rush.  He looked around at his surroundings: it seemed to be someone’s living room.  What kind of supervillain kept their kidnappees in their fucking living room?  And on a nice leather couch, no less?

“Hey,” said a voice from the other side of the room.  “I wouldn’t move that much if I were you.”

Peter spun around.

The speaker was a man in what looked to be a business suit and sunglasses standing in the corner of the room.  Peter wondered if this guy was some sort of bodyguard for the real supervillain, but then he saw the cane the guy was holding. 

Well, that explained the darkness.

“Where am I?” Peter asked, apprehensively.

“You’re in my living room,” the guy said, not moving from where he was standing.  “I found you passed out outside my apartment and I didn’t know if you had health insurance so I brought you here to patch you up.”

Peter narrowed his eyes.

“And who are you?” he demanded.

“My name’s Matt Murdock,” the man said with a pleasant smile.  He moved forward to shake Peter’s hand.  Peter hesitated, looking down at his own hand, which was still covered by his spider-suit, before shaking Mr Murdock’s.

“That’s one funky outfit you’ve got on, kiddo,” Mr Murdock said, still smiling.

Peter blinked. 

He scrutinised Mr Murdock’s face for a sense of malice or even wry humour.  But the guy just kept smiling goofily.

“Yeah,” Peter said, slowly, letting go of Mr Murdock’s hand.  “I was just, uh, practicing my gymnastics routine in the area.”

“Really?” Mr Murdock asked, raising his eyebrows.  “Because it sounded like you were having a panic attack in a dumpster.”

A dumpster?  Seriously?  God, that’s embarrassing.  He really needed to work on the whole... not-doing-that thing.

“It was pretty worrying,” Mr Murdock continued.  “You passed out the moment I tried opening the lid.”

“Yeah, well,” Peter said, uncomfortably, not wanting to delve deeply into his emotional issues right now.  “I guess I must have fallen weirdly.”

 “You’ve messed up your ribs pretty badly,” Mr Murdock said.  “But I didn’t want to mess around while you were unconscious.  Also, I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t have been able to find the zipper to that thing anyway.”

“Oh,” Peter said.  “Thanks, but it’s really unnecessary.  And I’d better be going now, bye!”

And he turned to go, which caused a spike of pain in his ribs so intense that he squealed and immediately fell back down on the couch.

“My old man was a boxer,” Mr Murdock said, apparently unfazed by Peter’s humiliating squeaks.  “I know a fractured rib when I hear one.”

“You can  _hear_  my ribs?” Peter asked, incredulously.

“No,” Mr Murdock said.  “But I did hear that squeal of pain as you turned.”

Peter scowled.

“I can call an ambulance if you’d like,” Mr Murdock offered.

“No!” Peter said, quickly.  “You were right.  I, uh, don’t have health insurance.”

“Then, will you let me fix you up?” Mr Murdock asked.  “I don’t want you actually breaking your ribs by accident.  Especially if you’re a gymnast.”

“Right,” Peter said.  How long did fractured ribs usually take to heal?  And how long would  _his_  fractured ribs take?  But he couldn’t let Mr Murdock know about his advanced healing capabilities.

“I’ll go get my first aid kit,” Mr Murdock said, turning around, and exiting the room.

 Peter used this opportunity to look wildly around (keeping his torso entirely straight the entire time) for his mask.  He couldn’t leave without it, and he didn’t have any other clothes to change into.  But after a cursory look between the couch cushions and around the coffee table, he couldn’t find it.  It looked like he was trapped in Matt Murdock’s apartment for the near future.

At least Mr Murdock seemed like a decent-enough guy.  Maybe he would let Peter borrow his phone to call Aunt May and let her know he was coming home late?  Shit.  What time was it anyway?

Mr Murdock re-entered the room, holding what looked like an enormous steel toolbox suitable for your average expert plumber and a bag of frozen peas.

“Gee,” Peter said.  “Do you, like, cut yourself while shaving a lot?”

Mr Murdock chuckled, and settled the toolbox on the floor next to the couch.

“Something like that,” he said, which made Peter instantly feel bad for pointing out how often a blind dude got into accidents.  Way to go, Pete.

“Wait,” Peter said, suddenly remembering what he needed to ask Mr Murdock.  “What time is it?  If it’s after six, I need to call my aunt and explain why I’m not home.”

Mr Murdock pushed a button on his watch, which chirped out an “it’s five fifty-two”.  Neat.

“Still,” Mr Murdock said.  “Do you want to borrow my phone anyway?”

“Yes please,” Peter said, gratefully.

Mr Murdock pulled out a brick Nokia phone and handed it to Peter, which answered Peter and Ned’s question of “who still uses brick phones anymore”.

“Thanks,” Peter said, before dialing in May’s number and holding the phone up to his ear.

_ “Hello?” _

“Hey, uh, auntie,” Peter said.  “It’s me.”  He shut his eyes, praying that it didn’t sound as weird as it felt to not be using either of their names.

“Oh, hey, Peter,” May said.  “Whose phone are you using?  It can’t be Ned’s or Ned’s mom’s.”

Damn it.  Caller ID.

“It’s actually MJ’s,” Peter lied, guiltily biting his lip.

“ _Oh_ ,” May said, meaningfully.

“Yeah, actually, that’s why I’m calling,” Peter continued.  “Is it alright if I have dinner with MJ and her parents tonight and come home a bit later?  We were, uh, studying and…”

“Oh, yeah,” May interrupted.  “That’s  _absolutely_  fine.  As long as you come home tonight!”

Thank God neither May nor Mr Murdock could see how hard Peter was blushing right now.

“Okay, bye,” Peter said, and hung up before his aunt humiliated him further.

“So, Peter,” Mr Murdock said, taking back his phone.

Oh shit.  This guy must have really good hearing or something.

“Yep, that’s me,” Peter said, weakly.  Thank God he chose, like, the most common name imaginable apart from 'John'.

“Do you mind taking off the top part of your gymnastics uniform so I can check your ribs?”

“Sure,” Peter said, now  _super_  glad that Mr Murdock couldn’t see how hard he was blushing.  He reached up behind his neck (which caused the pain in his side to sharpen) and undid his suit so he was just sitting on some stranger’s couch in half a spider-suit and a sports bra.

_ He’s just a harmless blind guy.  He’s just a harmless blind guy.  He’s just a harmless blind guy. _

Was it bad of Peter to be equating harmlessness with blindness?  Blind people were probably equally capable of evil.  This was the kind of thing MJ would know about.  He should ask her tomorrow at school. 

Mr Murdock started humming as he took out a roll of ace bandages.

“Uh,” Peter said, clearing his throat, awkwardly.  “Aren’t those, like, bad for your torso?”

“Only if you’re wrapping them around your lungs,” Mr Murdock said.  “This is for the swelling on your left shoulder.  Oh, and before I forget—” he picked up the bag of frozen peas from the floor, “hold this to your side with your left hand.”

Peter did so dutifully, while Mr Murdock started wrapping the bandage around Peter’s right shoulder.  There was one awkward moment where Peter had to let go of the frozen peas to help Mr Murdock bring the bandage around Peter’s chest, but it was generally a pretty chill event.

“So, who’s MJ?” Mr Murdock asked, as he used these fancy little metal clips to keep the bandage in place.

Peter blushed.

“Just this girl I know,” he said, vaguely.  Mr Murdock was seeming less and less like the “purposefully endangering a teenager slash superhero slash weirdo gymnast passed out in a dumpster” type by the second, but still.  It wasn't a good habit to go around blurting out every detail of his life.

“Is she cute?” Mr Murdock asked, pressing down on Peter’s shoulder with a firm but gentle finger.  “Does that hurt?”

“No,” said Peter.  “I mean, no, it doesn’t hurt.  MJ is…  I mean, MJ…  She’s a great friend, you know?  A really great  _friend_.”

Mr Murdock chuckled.

“Do you mind if I check out your ribs now?” he asked.

“Sure,” said Peter, just thankful that they weren’t talking about MJ anymore.

Mr Murdock placed a hand on Peter’s side.

“Breathe in,” he instructed.

Peter breathed in.

“And out.”

Peter exhaled.

“Tell me if anything hurts more than a seven,” Mr Murdock said, prodding at Peter’s ribs.  “You know, my old college roommate has a really great  _friend_ , too.  Apparently, she’s cute.  I keep telling them (my roommate is non-binary) to make a move, but they keep telling me it’s not worth ruining a friendship over.  And I keep telling them: what you want is worth  _anything_  if you want it badly enough.  You know what I’m saying?”

Peter stared at Mr Murdock.  So, this was either a story telling him that he needed to make a move on MJ ASAP, or it was a fun way for Mr Murdock to let Peter know he realised Peter was wearing a sports bra and was okay with people being trans near him.  Either way, it was a pretty unexpected and cool story.

“I think I do, Mr Murdock,” Peter said.

“Please,” said Mr Murdock.  “Call me Matt.”

“Okay, Matt,” said Peter.

“Okay, Peter,” Matt parroted back.  “None of your ribs are broken.  Congratulations.”

“Thank you,” said Peter.  He highkey needed a win today.

“You’re going to need to take a lot of Ibuprofen when you get home though,” Matt said.  “And make sure you keep icing up your side.”

“Will do,” Peter replied, zipping his suit back up.

“And I think this is yours,” Matt said, pulling out the spider-mask from under the couch.

“Thank you,” said Peter, taking the mask quickly.

“I’m sorry I can’t offer you a ride home,” Matt said, with a small smile.

“Oh, that’s really not necessary,” Peter said.  “I can walk.”

“Make sure you walk slowly,” Matt reminded him.  “I don’t want you passing out in any more dumpsters.”

“I won’t,” Peter replied, cheerfully.  “And thank you so much for everything, Matt.”

“Sure thing, kid.”

“Hey, MJ,” Peter called, as he saw his friend putting her books away in her locker for lunch break the next day.

“What’s up, loser?” she asked.

“I was wondering.  Equating a disability, like blindness, with harmlessness is bad, right?  Even if you’re assuming they’re a better person than you would have assumed if they hadn’t been blind?”

MJ stared at Peter, and for a second he thought he’d said something really awful.  Then, she went on a long explanation of assumed lack of agency and ableism and how disabled people are often heralded as pinnacles of virtue in order to teach lessons to abled people.  It was all really interesting and helpful stuff, but all he could think about was how beautiful she was.

So, he did what any normal teenage boy would do.  He stepped forward and held her hand.  It was warm and dry.  Exactly the way a hand should be.

“Um,” MJ said, looking down at his hand clasped tightly around hers.  “What are you doing?”

“I don’t know,” Peter said, completely honestly.

“Okay, cool, just checking,” MJ replied, easily, before kissing Peter.  On the mouth.  During school.  Holy shit. 

After school, MJ had to go home and babysit her little sister, so Peter decided to go out patrolling.  Which is what he would have done anyway.  It’s not like MJ hanging out with him would have stopped him from being Spider-Man, even for a day.  Okay, maybe for a few hours.

He knew his ribs weren’t  _completely_  back to normal, but they were definitely not hurting too much for Peter to not partake in some light swinging.  He would take it easy today.

Which was how Peter ended up finishing his day, sitting on a roof downtown, watching the skyline, and eating a fantastic (and free!) bánh mì from a Vietnamese restaurant he’d saved from an armed burglary.

“That smells good,” said a voice from behind him.

“It  _tastes_  good,” Peter said, mouthful of pickled carrots.

“Where can I pick up one of those?” the person behind Peter continued.  Something about the voice sounded familiar.  Peter sighed.  He really didn’t want to have to put down this sandwich to beat up a bad guy right now.

He turned around and saw a guy dressed in a red suit with a red mask over his eyes.  Peter didn’t recognise him as a bad guy he’d fought before, and his spidey-sense wasn’t going off at all.

“The place just across the street sells them,” he said, slowly.

“Thanks,” said the man, who looked like he was about to take off.

“Wait!” Peter called out.  “Uh, who are you?  I haven’t seen you around before.”

“I’m Daredevil,” said the man.  “And I could say the same to you.”

Then, the dude ran a few steps and did a forward-somersault off the roof of the building.  Which was when Peter realised where he recognised that voice from.

“Holy shit,” he said, and took another bite of his sandwich.

**Author's Note:**

> transcharlesxavier.tumblr.com
> 
> i might make this into a series? if people are interested in where that would go..............


End file.
